Letters to Damian
by DreamersMyth27
Summary: It wasn't hard, really. Damian made him proud every day. Even if Bruce never said it. Then… well then… Damian died.


**This lovely story was from a request by _arithese._** **You can find them over on Tumblr and Ao3, so be sure to check them out! They asked: _I really want to see a story where the batfam realises just how bad Damian's childhood was, and realising that his behaviour is because of this trauma. Bonus points for hugs, cuddles and emotional Damian._**

 **This isn't quite exactly like it, but it's pretty close! Enjoy, everyone!**

* * *

"Hey, Batman?"

Bruce looked towards Tim while dodging the sloppy punch from one of the gunned goons attempting to stop their break-in.

Tim was hunched over a computer, old and out of date, but still functioning. The light from the screen cast shadows over his cowled face in a menacing manner.

"Report, Red Robin," he growled, finally knocking out the last of the guards.

"There's a lot of stuff on here. We don't have time to sort the important information from the junk before the cops get here though." Tim pauses and looked at Bruce. "I'm going to download all of it and sort through it back home. I can have the information you want tomorrow night."

Bruce grunted. That worked. It wasn't like he could use the information tonight anyway.

"Not any sooner, _Red Robin_?" Damian asked - mocked. "Why the delay?"

"There wouldn't be one if _someone_ hadn't tripped the alarm when we came in," Tim sniped.

Damian growled, low and in the back of his throat. Bruce grabbed the back of his neck before he could make a leap for Tim.

"We need to go. Tim, get to work on that. Damian, with me."

Damian stiffened but listened without complaint. A sign of how far he'd come since he'd started working as Robin with Bruce. He didn't even try to launch himself at Tim.

Bruce didn't really understand his son, but he knew enough to know that his improvement in behavior couldn't be bad in any way. Bruce was… proud of Damian. He was proud of how far his son had come, both while working with him and working with Dick. The difference between the angry little boy he's first met and this calm (but still occasionally angry) boy was night and day.

He just hoped it would last.

* * *

In the morning (after Damian was gone with Dick for the day) Bruce sipped his coffee slowly, relaxing and enjoying the silence of the day. All he had to do today was look through the files Tim had e-mailed him at 6 am this morning (a whole 14 hours early).

Bruce couldn't find it in himself to be upset. Especially when he read the caption on top of the e-mail.

 **There are files with Damian's name on them! They're starting from when he's like three! Enjoy them. ;)**

Tim, at least, seemed to be over his hatred of Damian. Especially if he was willing to give videos of Damian's childhood willingly and with smiles. Or it could be that he just wanted to torment Damian. That was a very likely possibility as well. One Bruce couldn't rule out.

Nevertheless, they were right there in the email. In fact, there seemed to be more of those than actual files for the case. Bruce was almost tempted to watch them first. He didn't simply because he wouldn't have to take a break at all in between watching them if he worked the case first.

Lucky for him it was fast and relatively easy detective work. Bruce emailed everything he'd decoded back to Tim for reference tonight when they put the information to use tracking down some of the assassins hidden in the city. Now onto the videos.

Bruce double-clicked the file and waited while it loaded. When it began to play he felt his stomach drop. There was Damian, about three years old and tiny. He was in a large room holding a tiny sword, more of a knife, really. And surrounding him were bodies. Over ten, torn to shreds. From the blood-stained knife he was holding, no doubt.

" _May I go back to Ravi now?_ " the tiny Damian asked in Arabic. The wasn't even a lisp that young children commonly had while talking. Just perfect, dull speech. No words could even describe Bruce's horror.

And just who was this _Ravi_?

" _No,_ " someone said from behind the camera in French. " _You know the rules._ "

Damian scowled. Bruce almost wanted to laugh. It was the same way his son still scowled now. His forehead wrinkled and his nose crinkled. It wasn't a good thing, how much he wanted to laugh.

" _May I go back to Ravi now?_ " the Damian on screen asked, this time in French. Perfect, fluent French. Bruce felt his heart break a little.

" _Kill the one still alive,_ " the voice behind the camera demanded.

Damian looked around the room. Bruce saw the person trying to craw alway first, covering a deep gash on their neck as if that will keep them from bleeding out. It won't. They'll die no matter what.

" _Will she die if I don't?_ " Damian asked, looking directly at the camera for the first time, eyes wide and curious the way a child should be at the zoo, or perhaps seeing a funny-looking bug for the first time.

" _Yes._ "

" _Do I have to?_ "

" _Yes._ "

" _Why?_ "

" _It is what is commanded of you. Now listen._ "

Damian didn't. He simply stared at the woman.

" _Now, boy!_ " the voice snapped.

Damian still didn't move. There was a shuffling noise and someone came into view. Bruce didn't recognize them, so it was probably just a nameless assassin who'd been assigned Damian's training at this age.

" _Someday you will do as you're told,_ " the assassin growled, raising a sword of their own and slicing the woman's head off. The assassin turned around and sliced a long cut on Damian's arm. It wasn't deep but it did begin to bleed quite a bit.

Damian bit his lip and closed his eyes. He didn't cry and he didn't flinch.

Bruce knew that scar. He'd seen that scar.

Numbly, Bruce clicked on the next video.

Damian looked about the same age. In a different room, this time void of bodies. Damian wasn't holding a weapon of any sort. He merely stood there, hands clasped loosely in front of him.

What horrors could this video contain?

" _Name._ " a voice commanded, the same voice from last time, this time speaking Russian.

" _Damian al Ghul,_ " Damian said blankly, also in Russian.

" _Age._ "

" _Three years, eight months, 12 days, 16 hours and twenty-four minutes._ "

" _Primary caretaker._ "

" _Ravi_."

" _Your training is completed now, Damian. You will be sent to America to meet with your next teacher. Understood?_ "

" _Yes. Understood._ "

The video ended there. What had been that one's purpose? Perhaps to update Talia of Damian's place in his training. Neither of them had had much information. Mainly it was just clips of what have must once been longer videos. What had happened to the rest? And who was Ravi? He still hadn't had that one answered.

Bruce clicked on the next one.

More of the same. Damian was slightly older. Harsh lessons under even more harsh commanders. Over and over in all the videos, it was the same. Bruce watched his son go from a tiny child who only did what he was told so he could go back to the 'Ravi' person to a boy who killed with glee and never asked for anyone.

It was… horrifying.

This was Bruce's son. The one he could have saved - loved - years ago if he'd simply known he'd existed.

Bruce slammed the laptop shut with more force than needed and rubbed his forehead. It was the only thing he could do to keep from killing someone, possibly Talia, with how he was feeling, rules be damned.

 _God,_ he hadn't even watched all of them.

* * *

Hours later and Bruce still wasn't over it. He didn't think he would ever be, really. Never. Not when seeing Damian made him think of it all over again. Not when knowing where almost all of Damian's scars come from.

He was a terrible father.

* * *

He went back and watched the three videos left. Part of him felt guilty for it. This was Damian's life. What was more, those were parts of Damian's life his son hadn't shared, hadn't wanted to share.

That wasn't enough to stop Bruce's burning desire to know _everything_ about it.

The next video was labeled as being Damian's eighth birthday. At least, Bruce thought, he knew what to expect in this one. He knew that this was the day Damian first met Talia, in his memory at least. This was the first time they dueled for Damian's right to meet Bruce.

The duel, for all intents and purposes, wasn't that intense. It was over rather quickly and there was a surprising lack of blood and injuries that would scar.

Bruce wondered how terrible it was that he thought his child sword fighting for and still getting cut wasn't that bad as long as he wasn't injured too terribly.

The next one was from Damian's ninth birthday. It was more of the same, except Damian was a tad more vicious. More… angry. Closer to how he'd been when Bruce first met him. It almost made Bruce nostalgic.

The video from his tenth birthday was the most violent. It ended with the most injuries. Damian truly fought as if fighting for his life. And in the end, he won. He won and only a few days later he met his father.

And Bruce… God, Bruce must have been hard for him. Bruce hadn't asked Damian to do anything. To fight for his life or position. To fight to even eat a meal. Bruce had loved him and treated him like a child at first. Damian hadn't even known what being a child _was_ at that point.

And then more had happened and Bruce had treated him like the enemy.

What had Bruce been thinking?

Bruce couldn't believe he was thinking this, by he was glad he'd 'died' for a while. Without it, Damian probably wouldn't have improved. Damian probably would have just ended up as another assassin Bruce had to stop.

* * *

That night Bruce wrote a letter. Filled with everything he wanted to tell Damian - wanted to say - but couldn't find a way to bring up, a way to use the right words. He filled it with everything he'd ever wanted to tell Damian. Everything he loved about him and everything Damian did or had ever done that had made him proud.

It wasn't hard, really. Damian made him proud every day. Even if Bruce never said it.

Then… well then… Damian died.

* * *

Bruce wrote more letters, added them to his growing collection, because Damian would read them, damn it. Damian would be back again. Damian wouldn't stay dead… he couldn't! Bruce would fix it and he would get his son back. He had to.

He did things he wasn't proud of. He brought Jason back to Ethiopia. Tim had to stop him from going too far. Dick… Dick went under a deep cover mission and left everyone but Bruce thinking he was dead. That was probably Bruce's fault though. Bruce had pretty much been responsible for Damian's death, indirectly as it was.

But then… Damian was back and in Bruce's arms. With superpowers, albeit, but he was back. He was alive and loved.

* * *

Bruce was fairly sure Damian was angry at him. After finding out about Dick he hadn't spoken to anyone for days, Bruce most of all. Bruce continued writing letters.

And one day he just… left them at Damian's door.

It was foolish, wishful thinking. Foolish to wish that Damian would read them. To think that it would change _anything_. Bruce wasn't a fool.

So the next morning when Damian came down for breakfast and sat down next to Bruce at the table, Bruce almost did a double-take. Had Damian-

No, he couldn't have, because he still wasn't looking at Bruce.

* * *

When Dick finally came back, Damian threw his arms around him and left Dick spin him around. They were both laughing. It was the first time Bruce had seen him so carefree.

Bruce joined them, wrapping Dick and Damian in a tight bear hug. Without prompting Tim joined in. Jason stood a few feet away, shuffling awkwardly. He still let Bruce draw him into the hug. Cass appeared in the middle of the pile somehow. Bruce wasn't going to question it, not when all his children were safe and happy.

No one was in danger or dying. No one was suffering from any wounds other than a few bruises. Damian was here and he was okay. Everyone was okay.

Everyone would be okay from here on out. Bruce would make sure of that.


End file.
